


HDLW Sibling Week 2020

by Saokpe



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Gen, HDLW Sibling Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:00:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25805518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saokpe/pseuds/Saokpe
Summary: It's Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Webby Sibling Week and I made it a challenge to write a short little fic for every day of this weekly event. Hope you all enjoy these brother and sister shenanigans! I know I had a WHOLE lot of fun writing them!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	1. Ducks and Dragons - Day 1: Adventure

“Are we ready to start our adrenaline pumping adventure!” An ecstatic Huey proclaims over the table. His siblings occupying the remaining seats, hovering their confused gazes over a collection of figures, plastic dice, and hardcover books.

“So, uhm-” Louie begins, still analyzing the display of trinkets ahead of him, “-this is a game about  _ pretending _ to go on adventures, a thing we do almost every day?” The duck’s cynical suspicion directs itself towards the cap-wearing triplet, the 10-inch cardboard wall between them doing little to block it. 

“It’s not only about going on an adventure, dear Llewellyn-” Huey agonizingly teases, “It’s about making a story!”

“Wait, wait, wait, do these colorful rocks have NUMBERS on them!” Dewey intersects, ruthlessly inspecting one of the oddly shaped dice, “I thought you said this was going to be fun! This looks like MATH!” The brother’s biting fury echoes.

“Oh c’mon guys.” Webby attempts to calm the derailing group, “I’m sure this’ll be fun. So I get that these plastic toys are to throw at other players, but what about this sheet of paper?” The girl raises the assigned and already filled character sheet, her innocently oblivious eyes curling curiously.

“No-” Huey stops himself from spewing the erratic words that were sure to fly in his frustration, “Why don’t we just start playing and see what happens from there, ok?”

“Alright.”

“Okey-dokey.”

“Better than whatever Scrooge had planned for the evening.”

“Perfect,” Huey takes a deep breath, scanning over his story notes quickly before re-addressing the party. “The night sets across the peaceful landscape, soon to rise again. Beneath the twilight, a tavern proved lively and bustling. A truth one realizes once they enter through its welcoming walls looking for a group which can help in a mission placed upon them by those that be, something that your character, Webby, is experiencing right now.”

“Oh cool!” Webby looks over to the table, “Is this when we start throwing stuff?”

“No; Dewey,” Dewey dismisses the perplexing dice he fiddled with throughout his brother’s monologue, gifting his attention to Huey now that he called his name, “-you said you were a Bard, right?”

“Yes!” He answers confidently, allowing himself to think the question through after the fact. He leans closer to the game master, “That’s the one that sings, right?”

“Yes.”

“Yes! I am a Bard!” Dewey’s previous enthusiasm manifests.

“Alright then. Webby, your character, as they dash inside the busy establishment, the sound of blasting music welcomes you. You see, standing above the sea of guests, an extravagantly dressed…” Huey signals towards the now enthralled Dewey, his awestruck gaze not shifting at the motion. Seeing no difference, he waves again.

“What is this, what are you doing?” Dewey, still maintaining his smile, asks impatiently.

“Describe your character.” Huey returns, whispering between his teeth.

“OH!” The Bard straightens up, “I’m wearing a loose contortment of cut up robes of various different colors, and, and, he has this really cool guitar thing that kinda looks like an egg, which was weird and cool and I imagine it sounds like an electric guitar and he is rocking it, I mean totally destroying the stage. And-”

“Yeah, you get the picture,” Huey interrupts, directing himself at one awfully silent player. “How about you, Louie, what class are you?”

“Huh?” The addressed duck doesn’t move from his slouched seat, his hand fidgeting restlessly with the phone he placed his full attention on. “I don’t know, Geography.”

“I mean your Ducks and Dragons class.” Huey’s monotone corrects, sizzling annoyance in every word.

“Oh,” The brother looks over to his increasingly complex character sheet, darting across it in search of this so-called class. “Ah! Here it is.” His eyes narrow as his hands pull the piece of paper closer to his eyes, “ _ Rogooe? Roge? Rojue?”  _

“A rogue, got it.” The dismissive voice of Huey clears, a lack of further enthusiasm in his tone. “Webby, as you continue to travel through the various tables and chairs, you notice the figure you were told spent his nights in the dusted corners of the tavern you stood in. Counting the shining amulets of small gold pieces, Louie would you please describe your character.”

“Right, right, uhm, Class:  _ Rogwe,  _ Race: Elf… Duck? Background: Charlatan, Experience Points: 0, and Player Name: Louie Duck!” Louie triumphantly tosses the paper back to his corner of the table, falling back to his seat, staring over to his brother’s dumbfounded face with a smug and arrogant snicker.

A deep sigh sounds through the table before Huey continues, “So you see this Elf Duck, seemingly unaware of your permeating gaze, what do you do?”

“I walk towards him.” 

“Ok, Louie, just as you are about to account for the last of your previous odd job’s payment, this huge looming figure shadows over you. Webby if you could please describe your character.”

“Of course!” Webby raises from her seat, tilting her shoulder as she prepares her speech, directing her body to the somewhat disinterested Louie, catching his attention. “Standing before you, enveloping you, trapping you in their intimidating silhouette is the plated figure of a Half-Orc. Shattered armoring stabbed and overgrown over their bulging muscles, their tusks matching the dark greens of their slashed and scarred skin. My expression matching those with little value for life, I sit at the opposite side of your empty table.”

“Do you do anything about it.”

“ _ No _ …” Louie responds in a petrified, wide eyed, and high pitched squeal. His now straightened and attentive body shaking as it prepares for conversation. 

Clearing her throat, Webby prepares her following sentence, which emergers in a voice that isn’t her own. Deep and gravely, a tone probably acquired from various almost-fatal strikes to the jugular, the frightening figure tells Louie’s character. “ _ Are you Laten?” _

“We’re doing scary voices now?” Louie, his voice quivering over the overpowering presence of this alter-ego his sister had made for herself, directs to the game master. 

Huey shrugs in response. 

“You mean AWESOME voice! Go on, keep going!” Dewey waves, resting his chins over his palm as he anticipates the following interaction.

“Alright then,” The cowardly duck relaxes himself for a second, allowing the immediate paranoia to wash over before responding, “ _ Depends on who’s asking? _ ”

“ _ Name’s Worerdurk, I have a job for you.” _

“Hey Huey, it says here that I’m a Thief  _ Rojue _ , does Webby’s character have, like, a money pouch or something,” Louie breaks character.

“OOOOOOOH-” Dewey begins, “You’re gonna steal from the big giant Half-Orc person!?” 

“Just gonna check.” A mischievous grin can’t help but manifest itself over the lying schemer’s face.

“Roll a perception check then.” Huey instructs.

“Uhm,” The previously smiling duck looks down to his basically encoded paper, “What would that be?” 

“Oh, over here.“ Webby leans from her side of the table, knocking over many of the placed figurines, pointing to the  _ skill  _ section of the character sheet. 

“No! Don’t help him Webby, he’s gonna steal all your gold!” Dewey attempts to prevent foreseen disaster. 

“It’s alright, it’s just a game.” The victimized party assures.

The still singing Bard’s player thinks the question over, eventually whispering to himself, “No… it’s a story…”

“Ok, what do I need to roll?” Louie, still unsure in his statements, asks.

“The d20.” Huey casually instructs.

“And that would be the…?”

“The bigger round one.”

“Got it! Alright…” Llewelyn’s hand grasps onto the small plastic dice, his forearms vibrating, bouncing the tool between their fingers before it’s released, clashing across the table. “I got an 18 plus something.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely enough. You look across Worerdurk’s outfit and it seems to you that they don’t have any money on them.”

“What?” Louie’s surprise is directed back to the smiling Webby, “ _ You expect me to do a job with you for no money then?” _

_ “Oh, I promise you a hefty amount of gold will fill your pockets. But I think we might need a third party.”  _ The grizzled voice suggests.

“Oh, do I hear that! Can I go over there?!” Dewey, quickly excited, bounces and pleads to his elder brother.

“Ehhh, it’s a bit Meta-gamey, but sure, why not. Your performance has ended and you rush to the corner of the tavern.”

“I don’t know what that means, but HELL YEAH!”

“So as you guys are discussing this, emerging from the stage at the opposite side of the building is an attention grabbing Duckling.”

“A Duckling? Like a child?” Webby attest. 

“Yes!” Dewey answers.

“No.” Huey corrects.

“No!” Dewey repeats.

“A Duckling is like a different race, like Elf Ducks and Half-Orcs, their traditionally not very tall, this fellow that ran over isn't much different.”

“ _ HEY! HI! I’m Deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewerius, Dewerius the Amazing and Awesome, the coolest of my triplets and a very talented performer, it’s a pleasure.” _

The table of players meet each other's gaze before resting them over the unrefined Dewey. Huey questions, “Is, uhm, Dewerius-”

“Dewerius the Amazing and Awesome."

“Dewerius the Amazing and Awesome, is he supposed to, y’know, represent a specific someone or is inspired by maybe his player or?”

“Hmm, let me think- nope, not at all, now,” He looks back to Louie and Webby, elegantly singing, partly out of note, “ _ Are we going on an adventure or not?” _

_ “Yes,”  _ Louie naturally falls into character, the fluidity forcing a smile on Huey’s beak. “ _ What exactly are we doing, Worerdurk?” _

_ “The biggest hoarder of gold in all the land has a rather large bounty on their head, I was looking for some help to spend all of it once we kill em?” _

_ “Ooooooh, and who is this shrewd gazillionaire?  _ Don’t say Scrooge, this is gonna get really awkward if you say it's Scrooge.” Dewey’s charisma saps to a deadpan monotone.

_ “Oh don’t worry my tiny friend,”  _ Webby’s harsh imitation of gruffness assures,  _ “Think more a fire breathing dragon.” _

_ “Well that’s definitely interesting,”  _ Laten speaks out,  _ “Only legend speaks of the wealth they carry, you can count me in.” _

_ “And count me three!”  _ Dewey, I mean Dewerius (the Amazing and Awesome) adds. 

_ “Perfect. Uhm…  _ So what do we do now?” Webby returns to her usual voice, honest bewilderment in the question. She shares an eye with the rest of her party only to be met with the same insecurity.

“Well you can do anything you want!” Huey, still recovering from the serotonin of his family's enjoyment of the hobby, optimistically yells out.

“Anything?” Dewey asks again.

“Yes! Anything! That’s the beauty of D&D, the world is your oyster, it's a game where you can do and create anything that comes to your imaginations!” 

The playing siblings share a mischievous smile as the realization of what the excited declaration implied falls over the game master. As an almost telepathic link befell Webby, Dewey, and Louie; Huey screams out:

“Wait! No-”

  
**_The party then proceeded to spend the next four hours doing literally anything but killing a dragon. An unexpected turn for the story that Huey did not plan for. Poor kid._ **


	2. Comfortable Negotiations - Day 2: Pillow Fort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some kids have a really avid imagination and some times that manifests in expansive and elaborate pillow countries! But not all can be fun and games, I mean, pillow countries have pillow political negotiations and pillow interrogation and commit pillow war crimes. Oh, but I'm sure these quadruplets will play nice.

The synchronized steps, bouncing across the overwhelmingly muffled walls of the McDuck Manor, follow the figures of an arrogantly joyful Louie Duck and a stoically serious Huey Duck. Their trenches lead them to one of the few areas of the house yet to fall victim to the rampant colonialism these shrewd visionaries spear head, a solitary wooden desk, two equally simple chairs stationed on both sides. They take their seats.

“Hubert Duck, President of Pillowvile.” The hoodie wearing triplet acknowledges. 

“Llewellyn Duck, holder of the title of  _ Current and Forever After Ruler of Cushion Island. _ ” Huey responds. “How have you and your partner’s endeavours fared following your sudden departure from Pillowvile? A severing I did very little to oppose, might I add.”

“Yes, very little.” Louie’s previous smile turns into an almost sarcastic imitation of thoughtfulness. “Well it seems that my business partner’s ingenuity and my business savviness has brought us quite a bit of success, as clear when you compare our charts here.” The confidence oozing duck raises both his arms to reveal two staunchly different pieces of cardboard. Both demonstrated crudely drawn line charts, one with an elegant example of calligraphy spelling out Cushion Island while the other, spelling Pillowvile, could be described as anything but. The former diagram demonstrated a staunch uptick following a point labelled “When we got smarter and left Pillowvile.” The former followed a similar pattern, the line taking a steep dive after a period called “Our smarter halves leave Pillowvile.”

“Uhm…” The self-appointed president of Pillowvile attempts to assess the borderline illegible data. “Very… interesting. But, you can’t run a country like a business dear sibling of mine, way more goes into it.”

“Yet you’ve called ME to discuss negotiations.”

Huey bites his lip, the concise retort robbing him of his high ground. “Well, I wanted to talk to both of Cushion Island’s political powers, yet I see only one.”

“You seem one partner short as well.” Louie correctly assesses. 

“Dewford had other businesses to attend to.”

“I’m sure he does.” A grin carves itself forcefully onto a self-assured Louie. “So what did you want to discuss?”

“Well I thought-”

“Pfft- Sorry I just can’t keep it a secret!” The previously reserved negotiator bursts, his body slamming and rolling as his lung expands into a chuckle, “We caught Dewey sneaking through our blueprints, Webby’s currently trying to get a confession from him. I was supposed to lead you on for a cooler reveal but it’s just TOO funny!” He continues between his glee infused snorts.

“Oh…” Huey attempts to speak, left paralyzed in his brothers all consuming laughter.

.

.

.

.

.

“You better start talking unless you want to go on another trip into Mr. Cuddles’s play place!” A high pitched demand pierces. 

Dewey hung from a collection of patched together blankets, one end tied tightly on his ankle and the other on the insurmountably tall ceiling of this pillow comprised room. Poorly lit and suffocatingly warm and dry, the restrained friend cackles and hacks, coughing wildly as the rope pulled tighter on his body. His feathers filled with lint and tangled plushies, all courtesy of the deep and dark alleyways of the play place. A pool of dolls and toys which hide their bloodlust in their disarmingly soft fur.

“NO! NO! PLEASE, I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO MR. CUDDLES ANYMORE!” The prisoner whines wildly. 

“Are you sure? Cause he sure wants to talk to you!” Webby, her expression contorted with malice, drops her prey closer to the pit. 

“I’LL TALK, I’LL TALK, PLEASE JUST DON’T DROP ME ANY CLOSER!”

For a second the tensed and thick air is complemented with horrid silence. But slowly and surely the rope is reeled back higher. 

“Man I’m good at this job.” Webby congratulates herself.

In between his terrified gasps for air, Dewey is able to speak, “I don’t remember exactly what I came here to do, but if you give me my phone I can read off what Huey wanted me to do.”

“Hmm…” The prison guard contemplates the statement a bit longer. “Yeah that seems believable. Here you go.” The girl chipperly walks to the hanging duck, allowing him to clutch the device before retreating. 

“Thanks.” Still hanging upside down, Dewford lets the bright light of his electronic’s screen envelop him, slamming his finger across it until opening the previous chat log he had shared with Huey. He scans through it, reading the last message. “Did u find the weak point? Waiting for your signal” Dewey sighs as the options placed before him thin out. Without thinking, the cornered duck types as fast and haphazardly as someone could, sending the following message: “THE STRINGS BEEN TIED, DO IT, DO IT!” Just as his thumb forces send, his body clutches, his eyes slamming shut waiting for the sudden impacts and his inevitable fall into the pit. Instead, the shime of a new message received echoes.

“What was that?” Webby notices, a particular doll turning in her hand, causing the tied duck to flinch.

Panic stabs through the already hindered operative, his eyes darting to the message which oh so terribly inconvenienced him. “You’re still inside, the plan was for you to escape.” 

“It looks like you DO want to spend more time with Mr. Cuddles!” The threat curses with the power of a million witches.

  
“DO IT NOW, JUST DO IT NOW!” The message sends in the moment of panic, his finger pushing over the final button just as it’s stolen from his hand by a ravenous Webbigail. 

A moment of anticipation follows as the messages are read back to Webby’s unknowing eyes. Them widening in horror as the realization washes her.

“You deal with him Mr. Cuddles! I have to go!” She hardly finishes her sentences as her feet trail off.

“NO! DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE WITH HIM!”

.

.

.

.

.

A notification rings across Huey’s phone, his body still stunned from the sudden reveal his youngest triplet cast over him.

“I mean, I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to replicate Cushion Island, it’s perhaps the most perfect pillow fort ever created.” Another, of the plentiful, boasts Louie has thrown in the last couple minutes. “I mean look at it.” He directs attention behind him, walls upon walls of multi-colored furniture and cushions hoard the view. The wooden walls that previously housed now rest infected by the stuffing of these misused decorations. 

During the monologue, Huey lends a peek at the message Dewey had left for him. Dread befalls the brother, all of his soul used to avoid any sorrow. “You’re the bravest man I know, Dewford.” He whispers.

“What was that?”

Hubert readies his left arm, an arm which had yet to be seen by anyone since arrival. He sighs. “You say that Cushion Island is perfect?”

“As perfect as they come… why?” The creeping suspicion the question arises prevents any hubris.

“I ask because you and Webby actually left your blueprints back in Pillowville, and I wouldn’t really call it perfect.”

The snarky response Louie had planned catches itself at his throat, a worried gulp tossing it back under.

“There was a little design flaw I doubt you knew about in your infrastructure. Poor Webby had a tall order building the whole pillow fort by herself. Especially when you left such a glaring issue in the foundation. All of Cushion Island is being supported by a single sofa cushion.” Huey raises his right hand, revealing a beautifully drawn blueprint, a red circle signalling the sad truth that, yes, one cushion balanced the whole country wide fort. “You’re a shrewd businessman, sure, but when it comes to ruling a country…” Huey finally raises the elusive left hand, clutched between his fingers was the end of an elongated piece of string. “-you need a little bit more.”

A combination of shock and hatred form in the previously egocentric Llewellyn, that manic gaze following the string which, as he feared, led directly into his beautiful Cushion Island. Additionally, as he stares bitterly to the entrance of his magnum opus, the distant figure of his business partner runs frantically towards him. Her arms flail as she attempts to catch the attention of Louie, who already knew it was too late. 

“FOR PILLOWVILLE!” Huey screeches as he pulls the string, the movement creating an orchestra of falling pillows and walls. Destruction as far as the eye could see, pain resonating in the echoing screams of those that lived in its warm housing. A domino effect of crumbling dreams and desires. As the final blanket floats over, Louie crumbles to his knees. 

Pity does enter the victor’s heart, his body moving in satisfied strides towards his grovelling competitor. Huey lays his hand over his fallen brethren. “May this be a warning to all others who dare defy the power of Pillowville.”

Louie stares back towards him before solemnly returning his view to the ground that used to house his home. “I spent my whole allowance building that.”

“In war we all lose.”

**_Huey’s illustrious Pilloville was soon discredited and destroyed as punishment for its president’s multiple breaches of the Geneva Conventions._ **

**_His second in command, Dewey Duck, was eventually found retreating in the remains of Cushion Island, hiding in the rubble. When asked on the matter, the former ruler informed our reporter that he was fleeing from a “Mr. Cuddles.”_ **

**_When asked about the demolition of what he had previously called “the love of his life,” Louie inquired “The what?”_ **

**_Webbigail, the labeled business partner of Llewellyn Duck, has since been spotted waterboarding various stuffed animals. Some theorize she is training for something bigger._ **


	3. Photo Preparations - Day 3: Family Photo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The triplets prepare for their "Sibling Only" family photo, equipped in the worse clothing their uncle could purposefully pick out. They find themselves confused, however, when Webby is dressed in her usual attire. It's probably just a misunderstanding. It better be.

The morning in the mansion dragged long. An overjoyed Webbigail waits in jittery excitement as, from just around the corner, enters three unusually dressed identical triplets. Their faces burrowed in clear annoyance, all stretching horribly in the costumes discomfort. Expressions Webby could not dare emulate, instead she wore an elongated smile and beaming stare. 

Before they reach the living room sofa that the excitable Webby waited by, Huey complains, “I love him, but Donald really does pick THE WORST clothes for these family photos.” The duck, absent of his usual red cap, signals to his combed and meticulously designed outfit. A thick red vest, stray pieces of thread fuzzing over the also red undershirt he begrudgingly wore. Oh, and it was all covered in polka dots, from head to toe. Not a spot was left without a spot, it was anything but attention grabbing, multicolored polka dots in a bright red background, beautiful.

“MY question is: why do we need to take a sibling only photos in ADDITION to the family photo, the parents photo, the uncles photos, the rich uncles photo, which is literally just Gladstone and Scrooge, and the ‘anyone else we have passing knowledge of’ photo! I would think the last one would tick all the previous boxes.” Louie, whose loose shoulders wore the bear of a t-shirt anyone would doubt he would like immortalized. The shirt, a couple of sizes over his body type, obnoxiously said, in outdated impact font, “I’m not arguing, I’m just explaining why I’m right!” The utter void of any type of enthusiasm echoed in his sunken eyes.

“Well I want to know why this sweater is so ITCHY!” Dewey forces himself ahead, unaware of the couch he crashed into as he vigorously scratches his body, rolling across the sofa while struggling to fight the liberally designed blue sweater. “AND WHY DOES IT SMELL SO WEIRD!”

As their sequence of whining comes to a still begrudged end, their uninspired trek halting as they reach the only ray of enthusiasm in the room, i.e. Webby, she tosses her opinion into the frey. ”I think you all look great, your photo is gonna be amazing!” She exclaims.

“Wait.” Louie approaches Webby, her body bolting backwards as the distance closes. “Why are you wearing your normal clothes? Did Uncle Donald let you wear anything you wanted!?” Disbelief and shock rings in his angered assessment.

“Oh, no-” Webby attempts to excuse herself before being interrupted by Dewey, who still drags his nails violently over the obnoxious sweater, adds:

“Really!? Lucky!” The boy stumbles over his contorted feet, falling face first to the room’s rug, not stopping the erratic fight he had with his clothing.

“No, no, no, no, guys-” The girl waves her hand over the acussive triplets, chuckling as she explains, “This is the sibling photo, I’m not in this one.” She continues the giggle.

Little response leaves the triplets as Webby’s forced laugh permeates. Dewey, who halts his pursuit of comfort and stands beside his brothers, Huey, and Louie stare oddly at the girl. The deafening silence of their looks complimented by a perfectly synchronized eyebrow raise. Eventually, despite her lacking social skills, Webby reads the room, thinning out her somewhat sad laughter and replacing it with awkward eye contact with the boys. It takes a second for the fourway gaze to break, the embarrassingly dressed kids turning to each other before, simultaneously, speaking out:

“That doesn’t sound right.”

“Yeah, Webbs goes in the sibling photo with us, I’m pretty sure.”

“Us four, and Mom and Uncle Donald.”

“Uhh-” Webbigail, somewhat paralyzed from the overheard mumbles of her family, tries to intrude. Unfortunately the attempt is foiled when they turn their bodies back to the stunned sister. 

“You probably just didn’t see your clothes, I asked Donald to let mom pick it out for you so-” Huey begins before getting intersected by Louie.

“Actually, Huey asked me to convince uncle Donald, he was real adamant about the outfit he picked out for you until I persuaded him otherwise. No need to thank me, unless you want to, in which case, who am I to refuse?” He smugly assures. 

Huey pushes the scheming brother aside before finishing, “-point is, you’ll probably look a bit better than us…. Maybe.”

“Uhhhh-” Webby didn’t dare move as her brothers explained the situation, her mouth agape and droning. Her mind ran, every fiber of her brain overthinking the words the conversation brought. She probably liked to believe herself a sister to the triplets, but that wasn’t written down in the family tree, it can’t be the case. Right? I mean, she would’ve known and added it by now. Wouldn’t she?

Salted tears begin to well, the stray droplet splashing over the shaky smile her body forced over her. The emotive response doesn’t go unnoticed, Dewey returning to his feet after a valiant round against his sweater.

“You okay Webby?” Genuine concern oozes over the duck’s equally concerned tone of voice.

Louie and Huey, who discussed the clothing situation they still suffered, are the next to take notice.

“Whoa, are you alright? What’s the matter- Oh.” Huey stops himself, his expression souring in embarrassment as he continues, “Did you want to wear what Donald got you instead? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to exclude you I just-”

“Way to go dude!” Louie lightly shoves his older brother.

“You were the one to convince him! I feel like there's equal blame here.” He attempts to retort.

“Cause you told me! If I knew that Webbs wouldn’t-”

“No! No! No!” A stray laugh escapes the overwhelmed Webby, her arms rubbing across her eyes, drying them. “That’s not it, I just-” She contemplates her answer a little longer. Her thoughts prove blank, another chuckle preceding a larger hug. Her arms drag the triplets together before wrapping them tightly, abnormally tight for some her size. “Thank you.” She whispers between them.

Lungs crushed, the triplets are able to spew out:

“No problem?”

“You're welcome.”

“This somehow makes this sweater itch MORE.”

The embrace parts, leaving those squeezed out of breath and aching. But before any complaint can be filed, their sister runs off. From the distance she screams. “I’ll be back in a second, wait for me.”

“Alright!” Huey screams back.

Silence continues as the remaining group, Dewey while scratching the living hell out of his now burning torso, look ahead to the dashing Webby. 

“That was weird.” Louie finally breaks the silence.

“We’ve got a weird sister.” Huey responds.

A second moment of silence, occupied only by Dewey’s struggling grunts, returns.

“OK THAT'S IT! I’M DESTROYING THIS STUPID SWEATER! I’LL GO SHIRTLESS IF I HAVE TO!”

“Dewey! NO!”

**_The following pictures were deemed unusable by Donald as Dewey refused to put his, by then, burnt and torn sweater. Webby still keeps them in her room, though, the blurred lines of action and chaotic composition struck a chord with her. A good representation of their relationship as siblings, she thinks._ **


	4. Not Identical - Day 4: Matching Outfits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having two other identical twins definitely has it's perks. For one, you're basically born with two best friends! On the other hand, most people stop seeing you as anything other than the third of a trio of triplets. Key word on "most people."

“Wait a second?”

Webby hears a curious tone coming from the hallway beneath her personal abode.

“This is… weird…” A second voice adds.

“Real funny guys.” A sarcastic scold dismisses.

Intrigued by the conversation occurring just loud enough to overhear, the previously resting Webbigail dashes to the connecting hallway the manor has placed between the various mansion doors. The investigation leads her to three identical brothers, mumbling to each other in the room corner.

She steps ahead, ready to ask what had occurred when their attire came into view. Her eyes light up, joy filling every inch of her body, her feet tapping as she continues to approach. 

“YOU GUYS LOOK SO CUTE!” Her beak shoots forth in rabid excitement. 

“Huh?” The three ducks look over, the residual confusion the snippet of conversation suggested still painted over their faces. Their attire now fully visible, it was impossible to mistake the fact of the matter. They all wore the same simple t-shirt and hat, all color coated to their preferred hue. 

“No! Not cute!” Huey is the first to set his statement apart from his mild mannered twins. “It’s a stupid joke, at most.” He addresses the other two. 

“This is pure coincidence.” Louie answers, pointing back to the other’s clothing then and himself.

“Oh yeah?” Huey doubts, “Like you ever take off your hoodie for anything.”

“It’s the middle of summer and the AC system broke down, I’m not a masochist either.” The answer delivers in a monotone and indifferent explanation.

“Yes, as much as this… style-” Dewey rolls his eyes and visibly shivers at his addition, “-bothers me, my usual two shirt combo is a bit too much right now.”

“Oh really?” The red wearing duckling crosses his arms, tilting his body’s weight to his left leg before countering, “Then what about the hats?”

Louie and Dewey share a glance before looking back to the oldest of the group. They shrug. 

“Oh come on guys, you look great!” Webby optimistically tried to calm. 

“Ehhhhh-”

“Lies.”

“It’s not about looking good.” The most agitated of the three elaborates, “We’re not a gimmick! We’re not different color versions of the same toy to slap next to each other in scrapbooks! WE’RE INDIVIDUALS!” 

The offended and passionate speech steals the conversation's momentum.

“Uhm…” Webby tries to avert her gaze, “Maybe, you might be overreacting?” She continues, her high pitched whisper signaling an attempt to not alter the already tilted Huey.

“I’m not!” He confidently proclaims, turning to the also attentive Louie and Dewey, “Let’s all three change clothing to prove our individuality!”

“Really? I could just remove the hat-”

“No, Huey’s right!” Dewey cuts in, “My sense of fashion is what sets me apart! I can’t be walking around wearing the same thing as you guys!”

“Well, that’s not what I meant-”

“We’ll meet here in a couple minutes.” The blue adorned brother runs off.

“Ugh-” Louie rolls begrudgingly, “Fine.” He steps back to his room.

“You’ll see Webby, just because we were born on the same day doesn’t mean we’re the same.” 

“Y’know Huey, I feel like that is very unrelated to what’s happening right now.” 

“You’ll see…” Huey’s mind wanders as he repeats.

.

.

.

.

.

After some time, Webby fiddling as she waits for the boys’ new and improved costumes, Huey walks into the hallways. She looks over to the almost blinding display of mix mashed articles of clothing. Multiple colors drawn over completely different styles of attire. The legs of a green football mascot, a stereotypical blue hawaiian shirt, and a bright red, incredibly extravagant, fur scarf. 

“How do I look?” The peculiar duck finally reaches.

“Unique.” Webby, devoid of any cynicism, answers.

“Exactly.”

Before the converse could continue, from the opposing corner, a voice introduces.

“Feast your eyes, dear siblings o’ my, to the height of fashion that is-” Dewey, eyes closed, hops to reveal himself, “-Dewey Duck!” The boastful duck opens his eyes to the sight of a perfect mirror that was Huey. Despite all possibility, they in fact wore the same bizarre combination of clothes.

“WHAT!?” Both scream out, Webby holding a laugh in her shocked expression. “How is this even possible!” Their synchronized rant echoes.

“This was meticulously designed!” Dewey presents himself.

“This was randomly chosen! How could we match?!”

“Alright so-” The nasally voice of Louie bounces from deeper into the alleyway, “-I chose the clothes I thought you two would most likely choose, as like reverse psychology or some-” The kid halts as he looks over to Huey and Dewey, shamelessly matching his exact outfit. He sighs, a festering annoyance channeling in his voice, “I should’ve known.”

Almost immediately as the group reunites, a yelling match commences. The bizarre turn of events causing some confusion fueled arguing.

“Did you guys put cameras in our room?! This joke is stupid!” Huey screeches.

“Guys…”

“I thought I told you two to STAY AWAY from my wardrobe!” Dewey angrily bites back.

“Guys.”

“I can just change, It’s not that complicated.” Louie suggests.

“GUYS!” Webby robs their notice. “Why are you guys so bothered by wearing the same thing? I personally think it's very charming. ” She attempts to lighten.

“Cause that’s the only way people can tell us apart!” Huey finally reveals his motives. Dropping the conversation to dead silence. “Like, I’d rather just dress differently than need to literally color coat us.”

The other two don’t find themselves opposing.

“Wait? Really, that’s the problem? You guys look COMPLETELY different!” Webby assures.

“What?” The three identically dressed ducks speak in unison.

“Yeah! For example, Huey has deeper bags under his eyes-” She points ahead.

“Really?” Huey instinctually places his hands beneath his pupils.

“-Dewey has a smaller beak,-” She shifts her finger to the side.

“Huh?” The exposed kid grabs and stretches his mouth.

“-and Louie’s face is the most symmetrical.” The girl finally lands.

“Yeah, probably.” Louie proves satisfied with his given difference.

Webby, finishing her assessment, successfully identifying her, for lack of a better word, indistinguishable brothers, scans the trio as they analyze their pointed out quirks.

“See? You don’t need to actively go out differentiating yourselves, you’re all completely different in your own rights!” She concludes her point.

Huey, Dewey, and Louie look over at each other, their unique mannerisms displayed in the acknowledgement. 

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

**_The triplets immediately changed back to their usual get up because, despite the acknowledgements of their differences, they had kinda grown attached to their personal sense of fashion. Plus, one of their shared differences is that they would rather do anything but indulge themselves in each other’s clothing choices. It was a heartwarming moment for them, though._ **


	5. The Perfect Prank - Day 5: Prank War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louie has had it too good for too long! He's held the title of Prank King for every year their annual Prank War has existed for! But not for long, as Webby, Dewey, and Huey have the perfect plan ready for their lazy, cunning brother, and he's sure to fall for it!

“Quiet, silent, undetectable, like a predator about to jump on their prey.” Webby whispers, shifting her body behind the expansive cover the living room sofa allowed.

“But we’re the prey.” Dewey corrects.

“Yes, the most dangerous prey, the prey that haunts your dreams, the prey that tugs at the core of your sanity’s strings, the prey that, once eaten, rests uncontrollably in your gut for nights to come.” The still crouching girl continues.

“Wait, so do we WANT Louie to prank us?” The even more perplexed Dewford attempts to reason.

A third voice attempts to break through, reeling their eyes though their ears only catch a muffled imitation of language.

“Dude, we can’t hear you with the pillow in your face.” They look ahead, their control obsessed brother looking back between the cushions that surrounded him. 

Through a moment of struggle, an arm, also surrounded by taped together bolsters, raises to push the disrupting pillow down. “I was saying that we can’t be speaking or Louie will realize we’re here!” Huey attempts to aprehess between his silent seething.

The three stealthed ducks duck lower behind the furniture piece, the space limited by Huey’s alternative armor.

“Do you really need to wear that?” A particularly annoyed Dewey aprehests. 

“Yes. I do. Especially after last year….” The kid’s eyes slowly turn upwards, his gaze shooting aimlessly as a memory flashes before him. Suddenly he snaps back. “Louie has won these Prank Wars EVERY SINGLE YEAR! He even beat WEBBY last year! And she has spy level training.” Huey explains, still trying to lower his tone to an absolute minimum.

“It wasn’t fair! He said Scrooge had dropped his top hat, y’know how rare that is!? Some people think that it is magically attached and no one can remove it without his willingness.” Webby passionately excuses. Only catching odd glares as doubtful eyes question the validity of her statement. “Ok, I’m people! I think that! And just when I ran out to confirm or deny my theories, I WAS ONLY MET BY SLIPPERY BANANA PEELS AND HARD FLOOR!”

“Hmm…” The belated grunt of Louie echoes over them, their bodies tensing and shrinking quickly after.

“He’s moving.” Huey peeks over the chair. In his short recon mission, he sees his brother in a far from unusual position. Laid parallel to the couch, neck bent angular to the tv as it blared across his half-asleep face. The relaxing sibling, in the moment of view, shifted his body a bit closer to the couch’s edge, still inattentive to the espionage going on 6 feet away from him.

“Did he notice us?” Dewey anxiously asks.

“Ugh, it’s impossible to tell.” Huey assures, watching as Louie attempts to raise his arm, giving up after lifting four to five inches. “But I think we’re safe.”

“Phew….” Dewey lets out a sigh of relief, “Also, can we talk about how Webby slipped on a banana peel-”

“SHH!” Webby’s finger slams over her brother’s still expressive beak. “No we can’t.”

“Alright, it seems like our plan is working.” The pillow adorned sibling lowers behind his cover.

“Wait-” Dewey swats Webby’s still pressing finger away, “ -what’s our plan again?”

“Do nothing! Spend the day doing nothing, hence avoiding all his pranks, as Louie slowly goes insane wondering why no pranks have been done!” Webbigail excitedly finishes on Huey’s behalf. “It’s foolproof!”

Dewey, still as lost as he was prior to the question, looks back to his brother, only welcomed by his self-assured nodding. A personal revel in his plan’s genius.

Still aberrantly shocked by this shared idea, Dewey, in a rustic monotone, responds. “I’m starting to see why we lose every year.”   
  


“SHH!” The girl to his left slams her index back over his lips. “He’s standing up!”

“What?!” Dewey dismisses the arm once more before popping his head over. It’s true, the hoodie wearing, couch slouching, Louie Duck stood from his seat, walking intently to the opposite hallway.

“Aha! It’s working!” Huey celebrates.

“What’s working?” Dewey still proves doubtful.

“The plan!” Webby starts, “He’s clearly getting tired of waiting and is off to see why we’ve yet to be pranked!” 

Just as she finishes, the sound of subdued footsteps ring in Dewey’s ear. He peers once more, seeing the previously absent Louie stationing himself back on the sofa, now with a can of soda in hand.

“Uhm, I think he just went to get some Pep.”

“Oh-” Huey admits, “Well it’s just a matter of time before he falls victim to our perfect prank!” The clearly paranoid and cautious boy, dressed head to toe in protective pillow armor, preaches.

“Soon the prey will become the predator!” Webby adds, her mystic whispers aired with an oozing self-confidence.

Disbelief and realization, though juxtaposing, reflect perfectly over Dewey’s mind. “Guys…” He begins, “I think we’re just bad at pranks.”

  
**_The trio waited eight more hours for their plan to come into action. Slowly going insane wondering why_** **_Louie seemingly has done nothing more than watch TV all day. Louie had actually forgotten that today was the Prank War and as such had no pranks planned. That didn’t stop him from keeping his yearly streak, however, as, in a way, the other competitors pranked themselves._**


	6. I Love You Guys - Day 6: Cuddle Puddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siblings comfort each other, perhaps in the most literal sense this time around. As the quadruplet use each other as makeshift mattresses and pillows, they allow themselves to open up a bit. So many near death experiences usually makes a person a bit guarded, so it's healthy that they open up once in a while. Sibling protect each other, after all.

“Dewey, could you move over, you’re crushing my arm.” Louie struggles as he shifts besides his siblings.

“No can do!” Dewey quickly responds, “I just got comfortable.”

“Maybe you could give him a good example by removing your head from my stomach?” Huey sarcastically jests.

“Quiet pillow!” The complaining brother dismisses.

“Ugh-” The red assigned duck curls his legs closer as he attempts to find a moment free of discomfort. “This arrangement isn’t ideal.”

“Speak for yourself!” Webby confidently yells, rolling into the middle of the group, nudging her body into one of the few pockets of space the tight positioning left available. 

As the girl forces her slim body through, the rest of the group find themselves adjusted, the rustling continuing for a good little while before, against all odds, everyone is able to get comfortable.

“It doesn’t beat the couch, but ever since I stopped feeling my right arm, this has been pretty nice.” Louie, slowly scrolling through his phone, admits.

Webby soon adds, “Yeah, I feel so primal! Like a pack of cave ducks attempting to keep themselves warm during a particularly stormy night.” 

“I mean, not that I ever had any doubt, but we are INCREDIBLY comfortable!” An oddly placed boast emerges from Dewford.

“I beg to differ-” Huey attempts to squeeze out, his brother’s head crushing his abdomen making it a bit harder to speak.

His misery fueled retort forces a chuckle across his siblings, though it’s doubtful he found it any funny.

The laugh falls, quiet occupying the space. A minute of appreciated company as the group either begins to stray their attention or fall into thought.

“Y’know I love you guys, right?” Webby finally breaks, a light and heartfelt tone of voice asking.

“Yeah.”

“Mhmm.”

“You don’t let us forget.”

“Well you guys should say it back more often!” A more peeved tone polarizes.

“HEY!” Louie, fast to the trigger, answers in an even more aggressive imitation. “I tell you I love you almost everyday!”

“Yeah, right before asking to do you a favor!” Webby matches his fake anger.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t mean it when I say it.” 

“Really?” The girls combative mannerisms immediately mellow.

“Of course!” Louie assures, “Also, could you go and get me some of the leftover pep from the fridge, left door.”

“Yeah, sure!” Webbigail, seeming almost excited to comply, begins to raise.

“Sit back down Webby.” Huey, a slight guilt lacing his words, tells. His voice quickly dragging the already half standing Webbigail back to the ground. “You already know we love you.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to say it out loud once in a while.” She pouts. 

“Webby’s right!” Dewey continues the rant. “You two never tell me you love me either!” The laid down brother puffs, crossing his arm and averting his gaze in a childish yet infuriatingly effective tactic.

Louie tilts his head deeper into Huey’s body, meeting his eyes in a moment of begrudged understanding.

The two accused siblings sigh before, in a half-heartedly though by no means disingenuously, allowing themselves to admit, “I love you Webby and Dewey.”

“I love you too!” Webby, in a satisfied and innocent sounding chirp, repeats.

“Hmph-” Dewey attempts to stay mad, peering back to the group as to see if they continued to place their eyes over him, soon befalling and swiftly responding, “Iloveyoutoo.”

“Is everyone happy with their ‘ _ I love yous’  _ ?” A somewhat uninterested Huey feels obliged to ask.

“Yerp”

“Definitely.”

“Kinda wanted that pep, but whatever.”

“Oh c’mon Louie, don’t be like that!” Webby scolds

“He’s just like that cause he knows he’s the most sensitive.” Dewey begins to tease, raising his pitch to the tone you’d address a small dog with.

“Nerp, not true!” Louie’s face begins to redden, his sight forcing itself to the side.

“Really?” Webby tries to peer closer.

“Mhmm! It probably comes with being the youngest.” The heckling Dewey continues.

“Webby is technically the youngest!” Louie, though correctly, worthlessly defends himself.

“You’re the youngest in spirit.” Huey adds his two cents.

“What is that even supposed to mean?!” The increasingly flustered and embarrassed Louie interrogates.

“Well,-” Huey begins to explain, “The older siblings need to protect their younger siblings-”

“And you need to be protected the most!” Dewey finishes.

“That just means I’m delicate, not sensitive!”

“Aww don’t worry Louie-” Webby stretches her arm over her brother’s head, ruffling his feathers while guaranteeing, “-we’ll protect you.”

“Can we stop talking about this now!” The now blood red-faced brother strongly suggests.

“Sure thing little bro.” His sister jabs, the other two brothers giggling lightly to themselves, all the while the hand she landed on Louie’s head continues to shake and pet, the movement becoming secondary as the room returns to silence.

The miniscule sound proves soothing, their comforting attendance allowing the moment to stall in blissful relaxation. Soon proving even the most bitter of members to crack a smile as their minds wander across the vast sea of gentle thoughts that their heads housed. 

“Hmm…” Louie lets out a short humm, the first piece of sound in the last half hour or so. “If you guys would all protect me, who’s going to protect you.” he meekly asks.

“Webby probably.” Dewey, not giving the question much thought, answers. “She can punch people through walls.”

“But what if Webby needs protecting?” He follows up.

“Granny would probably save me.” 

“But what if Mrs. Beakley wasn’t there?” 

The crowd halts the conversation at the last question.

“We go on adventures almost everyday,” Louie, still talking in a hardly characteristic reserved fashion, clarifies, “-I don’t want you guys to get hurt looking out for me just cause I’m the most sensitive.” The genuine worry of the usually dishonest brother startles the group.

“Aha!” Dewey begins, “So you admit you’re sensitive!” Just as the last word escapes the arrogant duckling, Huey’s hand slams harshly across his shoulder, the former’s icy eyes stabbing fear into his younger brother. “Sorry.” He lowers his head in guilt induced shame.

“We don’t want you to get hurt, Lou…” Huey attempts to delicately explain.

“Yeah! Adventures would be a lot less fun without you around!” Dewey, unable to materialize the idea of subtly, almost scolds.

“But I don’t want any of you getting hurt either! I mean, Scrooge, or Donald, or mom are usually there to help us, but they're not foolproof, what then?” Louie counters, his previous lower voice raising in a harsh and raw expression. “I can’t protect any of you!”

“That’s not true” The still mild-mannered sister trails behind his brother. “I trust you to protect me if I’m in trouble.”

“Definitely, you’re clever, I’m sure you’d think of something.” Huey elaborates, equally as calm as his sister.

“Yeah!” Dewey jumps to add his part, “Remember that time you stopped me from joining an evil death cult by convincing them I was a STRONGER god?”

“Yeah but I can’t fight or do puzzles, and a lot of things scare me-!” Louie’s erratic mannerisms, though still subdued by the cuddle puddle’s limitations, begins to swing wilder. 

“You’re good at doing Louie things.” Hubert interject. “And that’s exactly what we need sometimes.”

“Siblings protect each other!” Webby exclaims, “You protect them and trust they’ll protect you too, that’s the deal.”

“Exactly”

“Yup”

Louie hesitates, the core of his argument, though quickly dismissed, lingers over him. He guesses that he might not think he has much to offer, but when it comes to dealings, what the other parties think you’re worth is what really matters, he’d be a fool not to take this particular deal. 

“Alright.” He finally yields.

“Perfect, I would trust you with my life, it’d be a bit awkward if you didn’t agree.” Webby jokes. The other two quickly nodding in agreement. 

The comment stretches a smile on the insecure duck’s beak. “I love you guys.”

**_The four ducklings remained the rest of the day in their cuddle puddle, eventually falling asleep as the night dragged near. Despite finding comfort at the moment of rest, their liberal positioning brought it’s drawbacks as they woke up with an incredibly aching body._ **


	7. A Drawn Out War - Day 7: Free Day!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fun pass time for the quadruplets is a little toy gun fight, but one of them tends to take it more seriously than others. One of them is impossible to beat. One of them strikes utter fear in the hearts of their competitors. But maybe, they're not as unbeatable as originally thought. Victory does come with sacrifice, however, are these sacrifices really worth making?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, we finally made it to the end! This has been one hell of a week, definitely in my personal life, but even more so here! The mods at the HDLW Sibling Week tumblr have been amazing this week, I can't give them enough praise for both their choice of prompts and their support of the various artists that participated in this event! Artist's submissions that you can see reblogged over at their tumblr blog (https://hdlwsiblingweek2020.tumblr.com/), so please give it a look if you haven't already. 
> 
> This final fic is definitely my most ambitious of the week, hence why it took all seven days to work on and is being posted a couple hours later than usual (sorry!). A story meant to make reference to all of my previous HDLW Sibling Week fics but also work as a stand alone story of sacrifice and action! I love how it turned out, I hope you all do as well!

My feet slam and echo across the hollow chambers of the remains of McDuck manor. I clutch my weapons between my fingers, its sharp edges scratching along my already weathered and distraught palm. My clothes torn, my pristine pale face vandalised with the war paint my quivering expression wore. My feet keep moving, the nagging voice at the back of my head begging me to surrender, my resolve not allowing that cowardice to take over. She could be anywhere, yes, ready to pounce, ready to relieve me of this stress I allowed myself to carry, ready to aim her barrel between my eyes and allow me bliss. I don’t want bliss.

The wooden hallways I stalked threatens to turn, a sudden panic overtaking me as the idea of what hid at the other end drenched me. “I wonder if my brothers are still in the game?” My head cruelly asks, the thought dragging every step I attempt to take. I reach the hallway’s turn, the corner of my eye catching an odd construct. The continuing alleyway housed not tensed air but instead an elongated line of walls made completely out of blankets. My curious gaze is promptly stolen from me, however, as the moment I reach the odd monument’s presence, my leg is clutched. The fear from before returns to me like the shots I have so cautiously tried to avoid, the creature which held me knocking me over and dragging me to the now horrifying display of incorrectly used bedspreads. Darkness finds me, my heartbeat slamming over my chest with the power of the gun I loosely dragged with me. As my body finally halts, taking my bearings, like a cornered animal, I begin to shoot wildly.

Foam hitting cloth bangs the pitch black room, the sound of life grunting and ducking the only other element attracting my senses. Soon the ammunition halts, the clicking of an empty magazine the only thing my weapons shoots. 

My heavy panting fills the silence, soon the sound of a match lighting and the bright flame it produces return my sight. My distressed eyes look across, seeing the multicolored walls decorated crudely with the bright orange bullets I dispensed. I continue to dart, looking for who my captors may be, seeing two uncannily familiar faces looking back. Both sharing the look of blood curdling adrenaline as I, Louie and Huey stare down at my prone body.

“HUEY! LOUIE!” I bolt back, clutching them between my aching arms. The little strength afforded to me wasted as I revel in the long lost warmth of my brothers. “I thought you two for gonners after what happened at the kitchen!”

“Almost but,” Huey begins, stopping as he drags his candle closer to my sullied face, “-it seems we all survived.” A well deserved smile stretches over him.

I part from my re-discovered family, “Where are we?”`

“Cushion Island.” Louie, a tang of grizzled seriousness, answers. “After  _ she  _ separated us, I started reconstructing it as a safe haven, taking a new design philosophy into consideration. We’ve been hiding out in here for a while, amassing enough resources to be able to fight back. Looking for you as well.” The kid shares a knowing glare with his eldest twin. 

“I’m just happy Webb-” I attempt to, in my newly found excitement, say before finding a hand forcefully placed over my beak. Looking over to where the arm originates, I see Louie, still not dropping the solemn urgency in his gaze, tilting towards me.

“Don’t say her name.” He whispers, “She’ll know.” His hand slowly begins to part.

“What do I call her then?” Seeing the consequentiality of the room rise, I emulate their murmur.

Huey lowers the wax candle to the middle of the circle we had created throughout the conversation, “We’ve been calling her Worerdurk.”

“Ok then,” I allow the new information to season, “I’m just happy Worerdurk hasn’t, y’know, gotten to any of us.” My voice heightens as it attempts to avoid the severity of the situation. “It’s almost been a full day, she must be getting frustrated by now.”

“I don’t think so.” My hoodie wearing brother’s clarification almost overlaps my prediction, “Our sister isn’t that weak willed, she’ll wait as long as it takes.”

“Like a predator to their prey.” Huey finishes, his eyes dilating as he recollects. Both keep silent after, allowing me to think the situation over. What they have seen I can only imagine…

Their silence is not well utilized as before I could get a response out, the thin walls ripple and shake. The sound of distanced footsteps reaching us. Our eyes bolt open, their pupils staring at each other as we prepare for action.

“She’s here.” My silver tongued sibling addresses Hubert.

“I’ll get the weapons.” The cap wearing and increasingly calm Huey bolts deeper into the tunnel of blankets.

I turn to worry, keeping vigilant for any type of indicator of danger. This paranoia leading me to notice Louie a bit less jumpy, uncharacteristically so. His sitting body hunched over a picture.

I crawl over, raising my neck over his as I attempt to view the celluloid. Though harder to see in the miniscule candle light, the object identifies itself as a picture of us, dressed in humorously designed attire. The photo is far from methodically composed, streaks of blurred action carved to it as I rebelled against my sweater. I chuckle at the recent memory.

“Where’d you find that picture Lou, I thought Uncle Donald threw all those out.” I inquire.

“We found it while trying to smuggle guns from Worerdurk’s room, she had it framed.” He remains stoic, halting his answer as his drowsy eyes continue to stare over the picture a bit longer. “She takes this game so seriously, you think she can be talked out of it?”

“I don’t know.” My answer reins honest.

… A moment of shaky stillness follows my response, interrupted by the sudden movement of my triplet’s hand as he crumbles and hides the picture, turning to me swiftly after.

“Does your gun have any darts left?” Louie looks to me.

“No, I’m tapped.”

The answer brings out an annoyed grunt from the analytical adventurer. “It’s worthless to try to escape without guns. We’ll just hope Huey is faster than Webbs.”

“I thought we couldn’t say her name.” A second of my jittery concern asks.

He remains silent as the correction reaches his ears. Thought overtakes him, the footsteps getting louder and faster, its banging only matching the intensity of my beating heart. It raises further, and further, and further. The sound of incoming danger scratching over me, the thinning quiet only adding to the stabbing dread. My fingers clench into themselves, my spine straightens, my brow furrowing in shaky anticipation. The slamming steps boom, one after the other. I shift the anxious glare I wore across the room, my head nagging for an escape, eventually finding solace in my brother. Who, against any type of common sense or logic, wore a smirk, a begrudged smile. Why?

A figure darts to our corner of Cushion Island. I toss my body back as I analyze if the silhouette was friend or foe. Luckily, the candle light reveals the identifiable outfit of Huey Duck. Louie’s smile fades.

“This is all I could find, she's right on my tail.” Alarm laces his words. Quickly dropping a collection of plastic pistols, rifles, and ammunition over the cushioned floor, Huey begins to haul various items towards himself. Footsteps approach. As I stare over my brothers, their faces contorting and biting in determined vigor, two pistols are thrown over my lap. “Those are yours.” 

“Thanks..” I take both weapons, along with their accompanied darts. The weight pulls my arms to the ground before leveling them. Scanning the pistols I am able to assess their strength, weapons worthy of battle. Additionally, I notice their dramatically fitting color scheme, the right sporting vibrant red and green while the left a light blue and pink.

The sound of a long rifle clicking sounds from Huey, who while fiddling with his weapon asks, “You taking anything, Louie?”

The green adorned duck exhales heavily, “Don’t think so.”

The question’s originator sighs, standing as the answer delivers. 

“That’s stupid, how are you gonna protect yourself without a gun?” I ask, the oddity of the response forcing me to question. “Are you not that good of a shot?”

My brother restores the smirk from before, the incoming attacker’s noise scratching over us, yet he walked closer to it.

Huey pulls my shoulder, raising and dragging me to Louie’s opposing direction. “He’s a great shot, actually.”

“We need to wait for Louie.” I attempt to reason, my feet slipping behind my older brother, my sight distancing from my younger. 

“He’ll draw us some time.”

“What?! No!” The situation’s condition punctures. The anger of it giving me the strength to break from Huey’s grip, the force shooting me closer to Louie, my feet continuing the travel. Not soon after the arms I escape stretch and lock over my abdomen, my sprint halted as I am once again pulled away.

“Dewey, it’s alright.” I stop my resistance as Louie speaks. “Just doing my part of a deal.” His words spewed with such confidence yet they only read to me like self-righteous nonsense. “You’ll win anyways, it’s not that big a deal.” 

Just as he finishes, the blanket walls that separated the room Louie stood over begins to ripple and open, a figure walking in as the footsteps halt. I don’t get to see the menace as Huey, with one final tug, emerges out from Cushion Island with me in hand. I separate as we bounce over the wooden flooring of the relatively better lit mansion hallway. 

“We need to run, you got your weapon?” Huey asks, slowly returning to his feet.

I struggle to find any will to return to my feet, the burning anger and sorrow encompassing all my energy. 

“Dewey!” 

My trance is broken, the sorrow suppressed as anger refuels me. I bolt to my feet, clutching the dual pistols in my unstable hands. I take a deep breath, the first intake of air I’ve dared take in the last minute. “Let’s go.”

The two of us race back the way I came, almost immediately after, the horrid sound of Webby’s guns firing echoes from the now desolate Cushion Island. My feet stumble, my teeth grinding onto each other in sizzling rage. I shake my head, holding my tongue as I return to a full sprint.

“Stop!” Huey drags his feet. “Look.” He points to the remaining stretch of the hallway.

I step besides him, looking forward to the sight of an almost invisible piece of string stretch taught along the two walls.

“Let’s just step over it.” I suggest.

“Look closer.” 

I return to analyzing the continuing path, noticing what my brother refers to. The same piece of twine repeated across the rest of the house.

“How did she even find the time to do this?” My shocked and agape mouth sounds off.

An eerily familiar family of footsteps fastly approaches. “Dewey! Huey! I know you’re there!” An arrogant and maniacal Webbigail boasts, her shadow stretching and distorting as it begins to turn towards us.

“Quickly! The lights!” Huey orders.

The instructions delay trying to reach my understanding but I eventually look over to the chandelier hanging near the alleyway’s middle. My arms raise, haphazardly aiming before laying two bullets in its direction. The second stray shot crashing across its top, knocking it out of balance and out of frame. The set piece falls harshly across the wood, the bulbs it hung shattering onto the walls and ground. Blinding all nearby with its lack of light.

“Come on! Over here.” I hear a voice call to me from my left, the still readable figure of Huey Duck hiding behind one of the drawers the house had a plentiful variety of. I throw myself, ducking alongside him.

“We need a plan.” I begin, my whisper falling to the increasing vibrations of the approaching Worerdurk.

“Yeah…” Huey dives into thought. Mumbling as he thinks of what to do.

My patience pounds across my head, my hand readjusting in fidgety anticipation. My neck turns as I wait for my smarter half to adjust to the situation, looking off to the hallway, searching for danger in the ink black darkness. As I scan the environment, two green dots stare back at me. My heart rips from my chest before I return to hiding.

“She has her night vision goggles, hurry up!” I don’t attempt to hide my desperation in the whisper.

“Don’t rush me!” he retorts, quickly slamming his feathered palms over his beak as the screech echoes, alerting any still breathing creature in the house. “Dammit… I got a plan.”

“Tell me! Quickly!” I disobey his previous scowl.

“You only have one chance Dewey,” A pair of hands fall over my shoulders, “-take our sister down.” The hands squeeze before my body is hurled where Huey once was, the sound of his body scurrying past me blasting. I look over, the silhouette of my hat wearing brother dashes into the hallway. 

Gunfire instantly commences, the streaks of wind the darts produce flying over me. My body curls, the intensity of the moment shooting between my bones, the fear washing and twisting every miniscule detail of my body; forfeiting control of my valor. 

“No!” I yell to myself. Too much has been sacrificed, Louie tried to reason with her, Huey survived for my sake and now he’s fighting alone because he put his trust in me. “I CAN’T GIVE UP NOW!” 

I raise my body over the drawer, placing my arms across as I wildly shoot forwards. The pistols alternate shots, my left hand firing first, the red and green, the gun brave enough to attack first. The beaming green dots of my sister’s goggles shift to me before darting towards my brother, who’s weapon shoots aimlessly at her.

My guns don’t let up, my shut eyes doing little to help the cause. My fingers press and release in unison, the foam ammunition bouncing from all surfaces it can find, my continuous onslaught only hesitating when a loud grunt strikes me. 

“I’m out!” Huey screams, grunted pain in his begrudged announcement.

My soul sinks. I lower my body behind cover once more, my right hand finishing to press the trigger, it clicking, empty. I look down to it, tossing it aside as a million different thoughts flash my mind. I stare the hardly visible blue and pink dart gun down, the last remaining, one final shot. I exhale before tossing my body back over the wooden shelf, taking both of my overfilled hands to aim. Between the eyes, the two glowing beams that glared me over. The whirring of a gun ready to begin shooting sounds from my target, the artillery she carried ready to riddle my body in plastic. 

“Dear o’ sibling of mine…” I whisper, the previously suppressed sorrow stationing in my right index finger which sadly levers.

My final dart shoots ahead, dashing between the wind which pulled against it, vanishing to the darkness upon release.

“Ow!” A high pitched Webby screams. A palpable anticipation takes hold of all in the audience. A wait of the outcome, of the winner's disclosure. “Aw man! You got me!”

The reveal deafens my ears, my already limited view doubling, my head dizzying.

“YOU DID IT DEWEY! YOU WON!” A secondary voice congratulates.

The room begins to spin, my body’s excess of adrenaline leaving my body sluggish upon its departure. Consciousness begins to leave me, my body dropping as quickly as my increasingly heavy eyelids. Before I fall, however, I scream out, raising my left hand, the blue and pink pistol still loosely attached to it, “Heck yeah I did!” 

My brain shuts down.

_**Dewey eventually woke up where he, along with his brothers and sister, was forced to clean up the mess their little nerf war had caused. Despite that particular drawback, Dewey still proves proud of his cooperative victory over the once thought unbeatable Webbigail. The perfect end for a particularly perfect week.** _


End file.
